Disclaimer: Hunger Games and the world of Panem do not belong to me, but their rightful owners, I just borrowed it and don't make any money from it.

Chapter 11: Reaping – Naïve, determined, invincible? (District 2)

Capitol – Caesar Flickerman

Slowly Caesar was getting tired. It was the same thing over and over again. Yes, it was his job to announce each and every district, to awaken the interest of the audience every time they switched to a new district, to give each district its due. And yet, five hours of paying attention, making sure he never missed his cue, he was glad that it was only two more districts to go. At least the audience would not need much rousing now since the last two districts were the general Capitol's population's favourites. Caesar himself did not share this view. But that was perhaps because to him today's tributes were more than fighters in the arena. Yes, those who would be chosen in the upcoming two Reapings were in all likelihood good fighters and the audience already loved them for this as they guaranteed interesting games. But they were little else. They had little true personality. Personality had been long given way to training at how best to kill others. That's why they always used the same angles in terms of presentation for the Captiol. Ruthless or charming for the boys, depending on the looks, ruthless or sexy for the girls – again depending on the looks. They were like puppets on a string to Caesar. Yank one string to get this answer, yank another to get another answer. And once they won, they could only add arrogance to their repertoire. And yet Caesar knew well enough that their arrogance was merely a mask, a protection as else they would expose their true weakness to the world. Like the nightmares… the longing for their parents' comforting embrace… the fear for another sibling following their footsteps. And they were right to wear such a mask. Nobody but Caesar would appreciate it if they showed their true personalities this way. They were Careers. The audience wanted them to be strong. But it was all so fake and hollow. And it made Caesar prefer so much working with the shy kid from District 9 or the obnoxious kid from District 3 or even the rebellious kid from District 11. They were less easy to calculate in their reactions and so much more of a challenge. And it was this challenge which had Caesar prefer the other districts to those he had now to announce. But announce them he must.

Knowing the camera on him, he donned his customary smile, reminding him that at least this day's work was almost done and greeted the audience once more. "And now, finally – as many of you think, I'm sure – we will turn our focus to the district whose tributes are often as hard as the granite quarried there, tributes as loyal to the cause as the Peacekeepers trained in this wonderful district. Stay tuned to see the latest pictures of District Six thanks to our split screen service and right after this we will answer the question: Who will volunteer this year as District Two's tributes!"

District 2 – Abelia Shale, 18 Years

Abelia was awake with the first light of the day. This day was far too special for her to sleep it away. It was as if her whole body hummed with excitement at what was to come, despite the fact that it was hours and hours before the Reaping Ceremony would actually take place.

Unable to stay quietly in her bed any longer, Abelia got up and got dressed. Her fingers caressed the soft fabric of her Reaping dress, but she would wait to don that one till after lunch. It would not do to spoil it by spilling food on it. But even as she slipped into the simply shirt and comfortable training trousers she usually wore around the house, she could not escape the sensation of feeling every thread of the fabric. And what was more, her mind instantly presented her with a multitude of uses should need arise on how to convert these clothes into something useful. Bandages, tinder, bags in which to gather food, even rope material… As she made her bed her mind reminded her of all the material she could use instead of a blanket to keep her body from becoming too cold during the night. Every ordinary item she encountered in the house was instantly converted or substituted. And every such thought showed her that she was ready for those games she would volunteer for today. True, she might not be the most skilled in shelter building, fire making, food identification or first aid. But she had solid knowledge in all those areas, knowledge she would soon enough need in the arena besides the customary weapon and athletic skills. She still remembered the day she had realized how destructive the focus on weapons at the training in school could be.

She had dawdled on purpose after the training, taking her sweet time at the showers and in the locker room. Though the sports teachers, as their trainers were officially called, made sure that the students left the facilities in a timely manner on a day like this, where the scouts – as the victors were called on such occasions – would come to review the students' training results, she had managed to hide in the shadows and escape the teachers' notice. Abelia felt jubilant. She would be the first to know if someone from their school would be picked as this year's volunteer for District 2. Of course there were no picked volunteers by the district – officially. And as such often more than one candidate volunteered at the Reaping, turning the selection into a lengthy and sometimes messy procedure. But every year the victors, who would then go on to mentor the tribute, would try their best to keep the selection as quick and clean as possible. Either by identifying the outstanding tribute that would emerge victorious at the end of the selection anyway or by sending strong enough signals to potential volunteers to discourage them sufficiently to not mess with their choice. At sixteen, Abelia knew she herself stood no chance at being chosen, simply because she was rarely among the first three in any of the athletic or weapon classes, but she knew she could at least give her standing among her peers a boost if she was in possession of delightful news such as a schoolmate being chosen as volunteer.

Keeping to the shadows – indeed stealth was perhaps her only class where she ranked as first among the girls – she crept along the corridor in hopes to catch some of the conversation between the principal and the scouts. Rounding a corner, she perceived just that group coming up the very corridor she had been about to enter. Hastily she retreated, looking for a place where she might overhear them best as they passed her. A broom closet offered the only option and Abelia just prayed that she did not accidentally upset the equipment inside as she slowly sneaked beyond the door. Keeping the door slightly ajar, she strained her ears as the first flickers of conversation drifted up the corridor.

"You'll not be disappointed in your choice of Romeo Carmichael," the principal gushed. "First of his year in thirteen disciplines, and second in three more."

Abelia had not really been surprised to hear that Romeo had been chosen, though personally she thought him a rather arrogant windbag. But he was really good when it came to sword fighting and he was good looking… which might him get quite a number of sponsors. So all things considered it was a rather obvious choice.

"Still, that's only sixteen disciplines," came the clipped tones of one of the scouts in reply of the principal's praise. "His record is sadly lacking results in another eight disciplines."

By now the group was near enough for Abelia to see that the person speaking so dismissively of Romeo's results was none other than the old victor Lyme. Accompanying her was Enobaria, District 2's latest victor.

"Minor disciplines," the principal in turn dismissed the argument. "Why should the boy know about edible insects when as Career he'll have access to the supplies of the Cornucopia?"

"Have you ever watched the games till the end? And did you notice just how many supp…"

The voices died away as the group had passed Abelia's hiding place. But the girl knew better than to move just yet. Instead she let the last words of the exchange replay in her mind. She had not heard the end of Lyme's last sentence, but she was pretty sure that she had asked the principal just how many supplies the Careers had left in the end. It was a question Abelia had never asked herself, having shared the opinion of the principal that a Career had always access to the supplies provided by the gamemakers. But was that really the case?

As a result of the information she had gained by eavesdropping, Abelia had watched as many of the games as she could over the course of the next few months under the cover of making it a special school project. And all too soon she had realized what Lyme had been hinting at. In nearly all games there came the point where the supplies were depleted, or worse, where some other tributes had managed to destroy them to weaken the Career alliance. It had not taken much thinking to understand that then the mentors of the Career tributes were in the same position as all the other mentors: They had to use sponsor money to get their tributes food or medicine. And that then knowledge in first aid or identifying edible plants could well make a difference in terms of how long one lasted in the arena. Even if as Careers they had more sponsors than the other districts, their sponsor money was limited and trying to stretch it too thin to cover both food and medicine could well mean the end.

Armed with this new understanding Abelia had then evaluated her own position and had come to the conclusion that perhaps someone like Lyme was willing to give a student a chance as volunteer who did not force a mentor's hand in such a way. That Lyme might pick someone who did well in her classes though was not top in every class, but at the same time had solid knowledge in survival. Accepting that she would never be able to beat some of her classmates in several disciplines to make it to the top and be picked as volunteer in her last Reaping year in the traditional way, Abelia had decided to change her training approach and add survival classes.

Of course a lot of her peers had scoffed at her, had ridiculed her, but she had persevered. And now she knew that her strategy had proven correct. Lyme had picked her as girl volunteer, despite her sad performance at fencing and mediocre skills with the spears. Archery, throwing knives, running and climbing, stealth of course, and all her survival skills had placed her above her rivals in the old victor's eyes.

Abelia smirked as she sat down for breakfast when she remembered the incredulous look Ophelia, a neighbour and her greatest rival, had worn, when Lyme had walked down their street the week before, but instead of turning into the path leading through the front yard up to Ophelia's home, had walked on till she had reached the Shale's home. Ophelia had been top in ten classes and second in another four classes, putting her on top of her year in their school, if not the whole district – or so she had thought. But hers were all martial or athletic classes. Abelia's scores were top in twelve classes plus another two where she was second and solid knowledge in the remaining disciplines. Perhaps it was not fair, seeing that there had not really been any competition in the survival classes, but that was hardly Abelia's fault.

Abelia still smirked several hours later as she walked up to the registration and proudly signed in her name. As she passed the sixteen year old girls in their roped off area, she wondered if among them was one who had perhaps listened in onto the undoubtedly heated discussion Lyme had had with the principal over the choice of Abelia as volunteer and had drawn the proper conclusions. Because Abelia knew all too well that the principal would have favoured Ophelia. Yet picking the volunteer was the scouts' decision as they were the ones who'd have to mentor them, and Lyme as successful mentor was held in high enough respect that Abelia did not worry much about someone else volunteering alongside herself.

As she reached the area for the eighteen year old girls, Abelia found that quite a few of her class mates shunned her, obviously thinking that by right it should have been Ophelia who was given the privilege of volunteering. And as more and more of the girls from the outlying towns arrived, the 'unfair rigging' of this year's volunteer choosing spread like a barely contained wildfire. But Abelia did not care. She had succeeded, she had been chosen, that was all that counted. Aside, of course, from doing well in the games… Something she fully intended to do. Too bad for her peers that by the time they realized that they had been wrong and Abelia right regarding survival classes it was too late for them to change their strategies. They would never again have the chance to shine as tribute for District 2.

District 2 – Marinus Bolen, 18 Years

Were the bus to stop now, Marinus would almost stumble out of the bus in his haste to leave the damned vehicle. He so hated bus rides. No, that was not right. It was not bus rides per se he hated, just rides where luck would have it that he was seated right above the wheels. It made the bumpy ride more bumpy, the vibrations shoot right through his body in multiplied force and all in all had his stomach lurch so much that more than once he felt as if his lunch was about to come up again. Indeed he had looked so sick and pale that one of the thirteen year olds from the row behind had asked if he was okay. So he now had to battle the added humiliation as well. He could only surmise what the youngster had thought of him. He had certainly heard them whisper and giggle. Given his luck today, they thought he was completely messed up and scared to bits at the prospect of being the chosen volunteer for this year's games. As if! If anything he was looking forward to the games as it would finally give him new competition.

Marinus knew he had always been competitive. It was not so much that he was in for the win, but he wanted to be the best. He wanted to train and work till he could beat the best. It was what he had always done. First it had been the kids in the neighbourhood, racing them when they were little. Then, at school, there had been further opportunities, more subjects for competition. And while he liked some better than others, he had been determined to master them all and beat his opponents. He had even tried out the survival classes, but had quickly become bored since there had been no competition in those classes. So now, at eighteen, he had simply outstripped his classmates and that left him without competition at school and perhaps at an even larger level of life. He was bored.

So, no, Marinus was not scared about entering the Hunger Games. He could of course have cleared up any misunderstanding the youngsters might have had about him and demanded they change seat with him. As chosen volunteer they would not have hesitated to fulfil his wish. Perhaps they would have even bragged about it later to their peers about how the volunteer had spoken to them and exchanged seats with them… But if he was to volunteer, if he was to enter the Hunger Games, then certainly he could maintain control over his stomach for a one-hour bus ride!

To take his mind off his stomach he focussed his eyes on the landscape passing outside the bus. Sure enough, the view of District 2 was perhaps not something one would classically call beautiful, but to Marinus it was home. Besides, he had learnt to see the subtle beauty beneath the scars worked into the mountains by the quarries. Barely a surface in their district was untouched by the district's main industry of granite production. Where it was not the quarries themselves, it was the huge sawmills which processed the stone into customized sizes. Or the roads from the quarries to the mills and then further off to the factories or the station for them to be transported to other districts, mostly District 1. Even the buildings in District 2 seemed to have taken on the permanent grey of the granite. But Marinus knew that grey was not simply grey. There were dark and light shades, the dark ones could be almost black and the light ones even white. However, only those who worked with the stones ever knew the full range of colours… the subtle shades of red and pink, the green and blue… If one took a close look, one could even see those colours in the dust which had settled seemingly everywhere.

Marinus' father worked as blaster in one of the quarries, so he knew about the colours. After all, it would not do to blast away all the blue if the customer expected blue in their slab of granite. Marinus had been very young when his father had told him all about those colours. Back, when he had not yet entered school. Back, when they both had still believed that Marinus would follow in his father's footsteps. The years might have changed his destiny, but Marinus had never forgotten about the subtle beauty of the granite.

As the bus sped along, Marinus wondered how life would have been, had he not excelled in school that much, had not been encouraged to train even harder and now to volunteer… if one day his teachers had come up to him and taken him aside to talk with him about focussing more on training with weights and in school to focus on physics to prepare him for a life in the quarries. Indeed, till he had been thirteen, he had always feared that this would happen. Yes, he had known that he was doing well in school and in the training. But he had never been sure if this was enough. Till the year Enobaria had been chosen as girl tribute and had won the games. Marinus was not sure if Enobaria remembered him, but he would never forget the short encounter they had had the day the 'scouts' were scheduled to visit. It usually was also the time the teachers had their talks with the less promising students. He had been a bundle of nerves and the slender eighteen year old girl had teased him that he was as tense as if he were to be chosen as volunteer. He had confided in her and her reply had forever erased that fear: "Send you to the quarries? Tough chance, little one. I've seen you in training and judging from this the trainers could blindfold you and tie a weight around your ankles and you'd still outstrip your classmates. You are too good to send to the quarries." As relieved as he had been about not being demoted to work training because he loved the all round training the potential tributes were offered, he had also been a bit sad since now he would never follow in his father's footsteps.

For a fleeting second the thought crossed Marinus' mind, that all he had to do in order to follow in his father's footsteps and become a blaster at the quarries was simply not to volunteer today. But as soon as the thought had popped up in his mind, it had vanished again, because it was a ridiculous thought. Tribute was what he wanted to be! There was no higher honour in the district than to be offered the chance to become the next victor of District 2. An honour he had worked for so hard, too hard to throw it now away.

But… had not all the others worked equally hard? His classmates? Though they could never beat him, they had not given up… Why? Had they hoped that he would miraculously break a leg or in a moment of insanity decline the honour and they would get a chance to substitute? Still, even then only one would have been selected… And the rest?

Most likely they would now become peacekeepers.

Just then the bus sped past the largest of the PTAs of Panem, the Peacekeeper Training Academies. There were smaller ones in other districts, District 1 for example and District 4, but also District 10… not in District 11. The government apparently had tried to establish one there, but those stupid rebels had always burned it down. Now they had to live with the consequence – none of the preferential treatment which usually went along with having a PTA in the district, but the largest number of peacekeepers stationed to keep an eye on the population. Of course it was not openly propagated that having a PTA brought certain advantages with it, it was more subtle – like the colours of granite –, but the advantages were there. It began with the infrastructure of the district to ensure the PTA was able to train at best efficiency. And better infrastructure meant that the regular district allocations reached the district and the district's towns in better time. So if winter was approaching and they were to receive fuel, good roads ensured they actually got it before the first snow. A PTA also received a larger quantity of food than was usually allocated to a town. And if they had left-overs, the PTAs were allowed to sell and/or share it with the local population, to ensure the goodwill of their neighbours. To interest their children in perhaps becoming a peacekeeper one day. District 2 had certainly prospered because of this. This – and their loyalty to the Capitol. It did not mean that the citizens of District 2 were blind to the wrongs in their country, but they were more inclined to seek a solution by working together with the Capitol rather than working against it. Which included working together with the peacekeepers and providing new recruits every year.

As he lost sight of the PTA Marinus wondered how his classmates felt today, knowing that they, in all likelihood, were heading there after the conclusion of the Hunger Games. How would he feel were he in their place? Would he be sad for the missed chance of becoming tribute or would he look forward to all that a life as peacekeeper could offer him? Yes, the conditions were harsh in that he would have to dedicate his life to Panem for twenty years in terms of service, that only after this he could think of starting a family. But with ever changing posts he would also get to see a lot of the country. More than the ordinary citizen. And deep down Marinus longed to see something new. Because new meant new challenges. Well, if he won the games, he would get to see all districts, even if only briefly, at the victory tour. And he would get to talk to the other victors whenever they met to mentor the next batch of tributes. He would get to know Panem, just not as a peacekeeper…

This thought brought a smile to his face as he finally exited the bus with a lot more grace than he had thought possible earlier on. But now his stomach was calm again, his mind had won this battle, and he was sure to win any battle he chose to fight. Like the Hunger Games.

He signed in, waited patiently and finally got to speak the magical words: "I volunteer!"

District 2 – Abelia Shale, 18Y

Abelia sighed with relief when she finally entered the Justice Building. Despite having been chosen as volunteer by Lyme, she had deep down feared that someone else – most likely Ophelia – would try to outwit her and manage to steal the place as volunteer from her.

Simply by being just that split of a second faster in announcing herself as volunteer and force a selection, which she most likely would then win as the selection was more about fighting than survival. Sure, she'd have to deal with a furious mentor afterwards, which would be rather stupid as anyone in District 2 knew that the relationship with the mentor could make or break a tribute in the arena. Nothing was so easy as to wait a few minutes too long to send the precious medicine necessary which could well mean the difference between death, mere survival or full healing. And nobody would blame the mentor. Nobody would know… Or as less direct approach advise the tribute to go for the completely wrong angle in the interview, thus lessening the chance of valuable sponsor money to begin with.

Speaking of a less direct approach, it was always possible to manage to cause the chosen volunteer to trip and hopefully cause her to break an ankle… in which case a substitute would be needed. Yes, the volunteer and the substitute would know the truth, but the substitute could claim it was a tragic accident and as long as the substitute won, the district was all too willing to forgive them any means they had taken to win, including taking out the competition before the Hunger Games had begun. And if the substitute did not win – well, in that case it didn't matter anyway, there was nobody to take to task over the manoeuvre.

But nothing had happened to her as she made her way to the stage and from there to the Justice Building. Everything was going as planned.

The door opened and her family entered.

"I still can't believe they picked someone as clumsy as you for tribute," her brother said good naturedly, though there was enough truth in his words. After all, Abelia had never shared her secret with her family.

"I'll show you clumsy, snail!" Abelia retorted. It was a long standing joke between the siblings to remark on the other's strength by reverting it. There was no way that Abelia with Stealth as her best academy class could be clumsy. Much like her brother as best sprinter of his class could be as slow as a snail.

The parents smiled indulgently at the scene, while beaming with pride at their eldest. They had known that their daughter was quite determined, but they also knew her school results well enough to know that there were other kids with higher skills at many weapons and other combat classes. So whichever strategy their daughter had employed, it had worked, which showed that their daughter was not just all brawn as so many people in Panem believed District 2's tributes to be, but that she had brains to match her physical skills.

"Keep this planning head of yours in the arena and you'll survive even the breaking up of the Career Alliance," was her mother's sole advice, and it was perhaps the best advice spoken by a parent in District 2 to their tribute child in a long time.

Abelia nodded solemnly. She just hoped that there would be a chance for her to plan ahead. She was well aware that the arena was not training environment where one could use the time spent under the shower after a gruelling session to come up with ideas on how to get better or how to outwit the competition. She would have to rely a lot on her instincts as well.

Her father, never a man of many words, gave her a strip of coiled metal and with this a physical reminder of what a sound strategy could be. "Be flexible, bend if necessary, but never forget the strength inside you and be ready to release it when triggered," the token her father had fashioned at the blacksmith's shop told her.

Again she nodded. "You are right. There's no need for me to try and compete for the leader's spot in the alliance. It will give me time to plan and be ready at a moment's notice when things have progressed beyond the point where I could rely on my allies."

"We know you'll make us proud." He said. Unsaid remained the words 'no matter what', because while everyone knew that chances to return home victorious were not as high as many would want to believe, it was considered jinxing the tribute to remind them of their own mortality in such a blatant way.

A last round of hugs saw her parents and brother depart.

Toying with the spring, Abelia wondered if any of her classmates would show up to bid her farewell. While she had never been really popular among her peers, she had had a few friends, though lasting friendships were difficult to maintain in a highly competitive environment and those who hadn't at one point or another continued their training as future tribute had simply drifted away from those who were still in the race for the eventual volunteer spot. But even those few loose friends she had had among the training classes had forsaken her once she had picked up survival classes and continued them to the end. They simply had not understood her, so why bother with someone who suddenly became interested in losers' skills?

The door opened again and to Abelia's dismay revealed Ophelia. Instantly the secret fear of her rival trying to take her place reared its ugly head once more, when to her surprise a second, a younger girl followed Ophelia inside. From the looks she was her younger sister and Abelia relaxed slightly. Ophelia would not dare to hurt her now, because chances were quite high that the peacekeeper on duty would then decide that justice would be served by sending the younger sister into the arena to punish Ophelia.

"I want you to tell your secret!" Ophelia demanded, coming straight to the point.

Abelia stared at her and it was all she could do to prevent her jaw from slacking.

"Not for me," her former rival elaborated, "but for Gertrude here. I have had my chance, but I want her to do better."

Abelia considered this request for a moment. She had not even told her family, not even her brother, and now she was asked to tell it to Ophelia's sister? But then she realized that she no longer had a rival among the girls of District 2, that she was past that stage, and that she had no younger sister to benefit from her strategy. However if she kept her secret and happened to die in the arena, it might be that nobody ever learned from her example of how to successfully become the volunteer. "It is quite simple: Know what the mentor is looking for in a tribute", she eventually said. As cryptic a hint as it was, it was the truth. And any future volunteer should work a little for this honour and not just have it served on a silver platter.

District 2 – Marinus Bolen, 18 Y

On the outside, it looked like the ordinary farewell to a District 2 tribute. At least that was what Marinus imagined a farewell in their district looked like. Even from the stage he had seen his father look around at their neighbours with pride, barely restraining the urge to yell out loud that this was his son up there on the stage. As if their friends and neighbours did not already know that he had been chosen as volunteer this year. Strange enough, his mother at that moment had had tears in her eyes, which had Marinus dread a bit her appearance in the farewell room. He felt that he could deal with just about anything, arena included, but not a weepy mother.

Luckily that was not the case by the time the family entered the room; his mother was more than composed. Indeed she was so far from weepy that it was creepy in its own way.

"Don't mind kids of age twelve or thirteen. It would reflect badly on you, if you killed them too early in the game, and might make you lose sponsors. Yet if these find themselves in an alliance and you along with the other Careers happen to come upon the alliance, you can go directly for the little ones. Nobody will blame you then," she told him matter-of-factly. "Just make sure to be remorseful later and claim that you had been aiming at one of the older ones in the alliance and that the little one had been getting in the way. But in the end you'll be doing them a favour to take them out of the game. There's no chance anyway of them winning."

Marinus looked uncomfortable at the thought of going after the youngest. Yes, their chances were as slim as being reaped in the first place, yet there were always one or two in the tribute harvest. And past games had always shown that one did well not to underestimate them. While they all eventually died, they more often than not managed to cause some serious trouble.

"Look out for those aged fifteen and sixteen. They are often rather confident, thinking they can make up for lack of skills with aggressiveness. These you need to take out first. Luckily those from Districts Twelve and Three usually are scared as deer, so it should be easy to take them out with a well thrown knife in the initial bloodbath. For Districts Ten, Eleven and Seven, if you don't consider taking one of them into your alliance, you'll be doing better at a close range. Especially with Seven you have to make sure they don't get one of their axe things, which would give them range for throwing. And attack them with a weapon they can't handle, should they happened to wrest it from you in the fight. But above all, don't go all gallant in terms of girls. You are trained better than that. Those twelve girls in the arena are as much your enemy as the eleven other boys."

It was all Marinus could do to keep from squirming as his mother kept up a constant stream on how to best take out the tributes from different districts. It was as if his mother's callous advice finally brought home the fact that he would have to kill those other people. That it was a completely different situation than just sprinting around the perimeter of the training facility and see who was fastest. Or who scored the most points at knife throwing. Or… or… or… He'd have to kill!

Instinctively he clutched his baby brother, who was seated on his lap, closer. What would Rhys think of him when he was old enough to understand that his big brother had volunteered to murder other kids?

A small whimper from Rhys brought Marinus to his senses. He had been hugging the toddler so hard that the little tyke got scared. Hastily he released his hold a bit to allow the small one enough room to wriggle without tumbling to the floor. Marinus silently cursed himself for his weakness. How could he have forgotten that as tribute he'd have to kill other kids? Yes, he had been trained to do just that, but now that the theoretical knowledge was to become part of the imminent reality he was scared nonetheless. Not that he could show it to anyone – including his family.

But maybe it was too late for that already… His father was by now giving him strange looks, as if he himself was struggling whether to contradict his wife's advice in order to put his son's mind at ease or to let her go on and thus prepare Marinus for the harsh truth. There was a small glint of sympathy, yet the greater part of that look bespoke of steely confidence.

Luckily analysing his father's look allowed Marinus to drown out his mother's words and get a grip on himself. He was relieved when he felt some kind of grim mask slip into place, hiding all his confusion and fear.

His father nodded imperceptively and reached into the right pocket of his trousers. He pulled out what looked like a piece of cotton string, but the moment Marinus spotted it, he knew what it was. "Here, son, you know what to do with it. And more importantly you also know that you'll find its equivalent in enough places in the arena."

It was an explosive fuse. On its own it was pretty useless and as such safe to have as token, not to mention that one could fashion a fuse from enough material readily available in any arena if one knew how to. And Marinus certainly knew about this. But as his father had just hinted at, he also knew that there were always explosives in the arena. The launching pads for once, but the gamemakers also had a tendency to rig certain parts of the arena with explosives so as to cause landslides, ignite forest fires or whatever means they considered suitable to bring tributes, who strayed too far from the fray back into the folds of killing.

"Thanks, dad," he said and he was truly grateful. With this token, his father had reminded him that he did not have follow his mother's more gruesome advice but could bring down the other tributes from a safe distance and not see their stares breaking as death claimed them as he would have to do when killing someone with the sword. He still knew that he could not avoid close combat, especially when it came to taking down the other Careers, but all in all he felt calmer now.

Capitol – Felina Brompton

Angry lights flickered on the dashboard in front of her and the two dozen colleagues on duty for the first shift of collecting the call-in sponsor money. Annoyed Felina glanced at the board as if she could convey her thoughts back through the line. But every year it was the same: As soon as the Reaping in District 2 was over the people got so excited that they would not wait for the lines to open but immediately called to announce proudly that they wanted to sponsor either girl of boy of District 2. That was the downside of Reaping Day being the same to the Capitol every year. It made the audience antsy to finally become actively involved. Because of course people wanted to sponsor likely winners. Why waste money on someone who in all likelihood would die within the first half hour of the actual games? And in this District 2 was perhaps the absolute favourite with the Capitolites. But with even the telephone number for the sponsor lines being the same every year...

"I wish they would finally get to changing that stupid number," Felina sighed.

Her colleague in the neighbouring seat grinned. "And what would give them this idea?"

"My answers in every Hunger Games' survey?" Felina asked with a slight sarcasm to her voice. "Every year I ask them to either change the number or at least have Caesar Flickerman remind the audience that sponsoring lines open only after the Reaping of District One."

"Hm, good point," her colleague replied, obviously annoyed by the frantic lights of the dashboard herself. "Perhaps we should coordinate our answers with the others here this year and see if multiple answers of the same kind will finally change something."

A/N: Thanks for reading.